Your Guardian Angel
by Serenity Marie Jared
Summary: Isabella Swan was supposed to die. Fate made another call. AU-AH, BxE.


**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm just a kid playing in her playground. **

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_I will never let you fall.  
I'll stand up with you forever.  
I'll be there for you through it all.  
Even if saving you sends me to heaven._

_- Red Jumpsuit Apparatus (Your Guardian Angel)_

The little girl was six years old, dressed in a tight pink leotard, when she saw _him_. He was huddled in layer upon layer of clothing, almost covering his entire body. She wondered why, giggling at the ridiculous man who crossed the street across from Ms. Delia's Ballet Class. It was winter in Phoenix but it wasn't even thirty degrees. She stood in front of the studio waiting for her mom to come pick her up. The rest of the little girls had gone home. She was the last one left.

She didn't see the man who cowered in the shadows, watching her watch the funny man wearing so many clothes. He came over and said, "What's a cute little girl like you standing out here in the cold?"

"I'm waiting for my Mommy," she answered, big brown eyes questioning and silent.

"Well now, we can't have that. It's freezing! My house is nearby. Would you like to come over? I can make hot chocolate." He cooed. But she shook her head. "No thank you. Mommy told me not to talk to strangers . . ." She was thinking of the hot chocolate, though. Her Mommy never made them – she said it was too messy, too sweet. She wasn't allowed to drink it.

The stranger could sense the temptation in her, and he fed off it. "Oh, c'mon," he smiled gently, "who doesn't like hot chocolate with whip cream and marshmallows? I'll even add in some sprinkles, if you want."

Oh, she _wanted_. She really did. The thought of it made her salivate. She's never tried any of those. Whenever she asked, her Mommy always said no. She'd say they were bad for her health. That, when she grew up, she was going to regret eating them. And because she was her Mommy, she listened obediently and denied her friends and Ms. Delia and all her other teachers the candies they'd offer her.

But now she was getting scared. With every passing second, the stranger man was getting impatient. He was really, really tall. And he had long blonde hair that her Mommy would never approve of. She'll _tsk_ed at him and say he looks like he's homeless. _Was he homeless?_ She thought. _No . . . he just said he had a home somewhere, with hot chocolate and–_

The stranger man grabbed her arms, his patience finally lost. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to scream, but he clamped one hand down on it. His grip on her arms was hard, rough and it tightened with every struggling movement she did. "You listen here, Missy. You're coming with me, and I'm going to –"

"Baby girl," a quiet, musical voice called out. "There you are!"

The stranger man turned around. She looked around him to see the funny man again, still dressed in his funny clothes, glaring at the stranger man who still held her arms. "Is there a problem?" The stranger man asked, pulling the little girl closer. "Forgive me," the funny said in his pretty voice, "but I think you're manhandling my daughter."

_Daughter?_ She didn't have a daddy . . . her Mommy said he died. She watched the funny man again, looking for any similarities between her and him. The funny man looked so, _so _pretty. Or at least, that was as good as she could tell from the dim light of night. He had pretty red-brown hair that shined against the street lamp. He was pale, but he looked so strong and tall. He made the stranger man let go of her arms.

She didn't look like him; he wasn't her daddy. Was he another stranger man?

But he looked so strong, so powerful . . . _angel_-like. _What was that word Mommy liked to use whenever she dressed me up? Angel . . . angel-ick?_ The little girl didn't feel scared near him.

She did, however, feel really scared when the stranger man looked him up and down, "You look nothing like her." The funny man crossed his arms over his big, big chest and glared at him. Suddenly, she shrank back against the door of Ms. Delia's studio. She didn't like the funny man's face now. He was making her _really _scared of him.

The stranger man got scared and walked away, saying words her Mommy would sometimes say when she accidentally spilled her milk on top of the furry carpet they had at home. When the stranger man was gone, the funny man looked down at her, still standing away from the little girl. He smiled, his face changing into a gentle, soft face that she really liked. She smiled, her little heart beating through her chest, back at the man who made the stranger go away.

His eyes widened suddenly, and she wished to know what color his eyes were. "Are you okay, Mister?" she asked because he really wasn't looking well. He was very pale. She looked down at her own skin and grinned wider. He was like her! Her Mommy said that her skin was very plain but Ms. Delia and all her other friend's mommies thought it was really pretty. She believed in her Mommy more because she knows everything.

The funny man didn't answer. So she waited.

She watched the cracks in the pavement. When she looked back up, the funny man was gone. But she still felt safe. She waited for her Mommy some more, and when she heard a familiar rumbling of an engine, she hopped up from her seat on the concrete steps of Ms. Delia's studio. Her Mommy opened the backseat door and she went in.

As her Mommy drove away, she looked out the window and saw the funny man standing where she'd stood, watching her leave. She waved, but he didn't wave back. Feeling sad, the little girl leaned back against the seat and waited for her Mommy to tell her to stop slouching.

xXxXx

"Isabella, stop gulping down the milk! You're a lady, you _sip_. You do _not _gulp." Her Mommy frowned.

"Sorry, Mommy," she said and put down the big glass of milk. Ten minutes later, she was sitting in the backseat again, waiting for her Mommy to bring her to school. She was looking forward for show and tell –she brought Mr. Pepper, her stuff rabbit that her Mommy said her Daddy had made for her. It had its arms at different places, and its shirt was in patches of pink, green and yellow. The button eyes made her laugh because they were too close to each other, and it didn't have a nose or mouth.

But she still loved it. It's the only thing she had about her dead daddy.

Her Mommy cursed again when she saw the long line of cars at the pavement in front of her school. She sighed. "Isabella, I'll drop you off at the opposite pavement, okay? Get someone to cross with you – I'm late for work."

She really didn't want to cross without her Mommy, but she was getting late. So she nodded and said bye instead, getting out of the car when her Mommy didn't say bye back. She drove away, and the little girl looked around for someone to help her cross the pavement, but there was no one. The big men and women were at the opposite side of the road, all saying goodbye to their children.

Someday, she wished Mommy would do that for her.

From the school, she could hear the first bell ringing. _Oh, I'm going to be late . . . but there are no big men and women to walk with me_. She looked at both sides of the road and held her bag higher on her back. Looking left and right once again, she took a deep breath and stormed her way through the street.

She was almost there when she heard the horns. Then she felt the _whoosh _of wind and her breath got knocked out of her.

Something hard and cold hit her. At first, she thought it was the car, the truck or whatever vehicle that was supposed to collide with her. But then she realized the metal was all around her like arms. And it was really cold, like ice. She had goose-bumps all over her body, and she began to shiver. She closed her eyes and pictured herself lying on the other end of the pavement, dead like her daddy. Maybe she'll get to see him. Maybe he's different from her Mommy and he'll send her to school like all the other little kids she saw.

But when she opened her eyes again, she's staring into the bright blue sky. She hears the opening and slamming of a car door. Someone grabs her arms and she turns around to see a woman. She looks older than her Mommy, but with blonde hair like her. "Oh my God, sweetie, are you okay? One minute you were there, and then you weren't . . . I thought I hit you, but then you disappeared and then here you are on the street . . . are you okay? Do you want to sit somewhere? Where are your parents?"

_Wow, this lady asks a lot of questions_. The little girl doesn't know which one to answer first, so she said, "I'm okay . . . um, my Mommy's at work."

"You walked to school, then?" the woman gasped.

She shook her head and tried to pull herself away from the lady's hands. She wouldn't let go and she was starting to feel really uncomfortable. "Sweetheart, I am so _sorry_. I'm so glad I didn't hit you." The little girl nodded and told her thank you, then the lady left and she was standing there alone. She wanted to know why she was here, instead of underneath the lady's car. She didn't understand. She _wanted _to, because it didn't seem . . . _normal_.

But she also gets teased for not being normal because she didn't have a daddy. Maybe what all the boys in her class say are true.

The second bell rings and she turns to hurry into school. She can see a couple of other kids running into the school gates, so it's okay. But as she turns, she spots a familiar man leaning against the shadows of the trees near her school. It's the funny man, and her face brightens with recognition.

She lifts her hand to wave at the funny man and he lifts his hand too. But instead of a returned wave, he puts his index finger to his lips. She tilts her head to the side, an odd feeling of gratitude swelled with worry and confusion flooding her chest, warming it like the milk she has.

And then he walks off.

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For twelve years, that little girl grew into a beautifully plain young woman. Her chubby fingers grew into more elongated ones. Her body grew taller, though not as tall as she would like; standing at a height of not more than five feet two. Her brown hair turned into the colors of chestnut, while her eyes remained wide and chocolate. She was beautiful, but no one in her neighborhood or school or dance classes could properly appreciate it.

And for twelve years, Isabella Swan – or _Bella_, as she preferred – fought and argued with her mother, finally growing out of the submissive shell that was her former younger self. Bella knew what she wanted, and what her mother wanted, were two different planets orbiting around each other. When she turned eighteen, she left her mother in her big, gray house in Phoenix with her new husband, Phil.

Twelve years, and only now was she going back to her father's hometown in Forks, Washington. She knew not a single thing about it, though Google told her plenty. She wanted to know how her father was like, the people who grew up with him, and the places he went to whenever he was bored. She knew her father's house there was never sold, though it was on the market. It made her living arrangements there simpler than she thought it would be.

Those twelve years, and the man who saved her – from both the speeding car and the stranger – still haunted her every dream. When Bella got old enough, she searched for him. She asked everyone she knew about a man with the reddish-brown hair that she searched through crowds for, and if she was being honest, every dark alley.

Bella was adamant about finding him. On her eighteenth birthday, instead of attending the birthday party her mother put together, she sat in front of her computer and began typing away the addresses of several police stations. For many of them, she lied and said that he was a missing person, her _friend_, and she wanted to find him. But she didn't have a picture, no name and almost no identity.

Her friends thought of her as a basket case.

She didn't mind them. Not one bit.

On the night she drove from Phoenix to Forks, she vowed to find him, no matter what, because she needed to _thank _him. She didn't understand the feeling she had felt when she was six, but she definitely understood it now. No amount of words could describe the sheer gratitude Bella had for this man. She'd try, but end up failing.

For, on the day that Isabella Swan was supposed to die, she found her guardian angel instead.

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_So . . . did you like it? Hit the review button and tell me what you think. If this chapter gets less than six reviews, it's a big no-no for this story idea. And it would be a shame because I really, really had a good plot coming with it. But thanks for reading, anyway! =) _


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